


tum is gravis acquiescat ardor

by ahala



Series: Basia [3]
Category: Ancient History RPF, Julius Caesar - Shakespeare
Genre: Chronologically Ambiguous, Fluff, M/M, Mark Antony Makes A Funny, just two unproblematic lads having a nice time, no sadness here, this is kindhearted content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22813816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahala/pseuds/ahala
Summary: A brief glimpse of a morning.
Relationships: Mark Antony/Marcus Junius Brutus the Younger
Series: Basia [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1499426
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	tum is gravis acquiescat ardor

**Author's Note:**

> This is short and rough and not great, but writer's block is a bitch and I needed to write something light and simple. Please don't expect any historical reference of time or whatever. All that's been thrown to the wayside.

Someone shuffled around the room, heavy footfalls thumping on the floor. This was all Brutus knew at first. He shivered and burrowed, curling his hands against his own chest. The air smelled clean. A cart drove by, wheels creaking, splashing through a puddle. A brisk morning breeze whistled through the open window. He shifted and felt himself slide into the empty depression where his lover would lay in his bed. The pillow had a sharp scent of soap mixed with morning breath and Antony. It was enough to push the residual sleep from Brutus. 

His eyes open and he blinked, squinted. He adjusted quickly to the pale dawn light. The room was strange, sparse in a way that was no beautiful and minimalist, but rather barren with apathy. The desk against the opposite wall was barren, with only a bag thrown on it and a few scrolls, and other haphazard trinkets. Antony milled about the room, his filthy sandals laced up and tracking pieces of grass and mud around the floor. He hadn’t yet put his cloak on, instead wearing his gaudy tunic with the skirt all hitched up. His muscles flexed as he tore through his wardrobe, searching for something. Brutus admired him for a moment, let him flounder before speaking. “It’s under the bed.” 

Antony turned, his eyes settling on Brutus before falling to the floor. He made a noise and strode to the bed, bending down to pull his cloak out. A few dust bunnies came with it and he beat them off nonchalantly. They sparkled in the thin light like stars as they floated back down to the floor. “Sleeping beauty awakes. That’s great. I was just about to go get Cassius to give you that true love’s kiss.”

“Please,” Brutus rolled his eyes. He stretched silently and glanced over at the clepsydra. “ _ Aio _ , I’m going to be late. Why didn’t you wake me up?” He started to hurry out of bed, kicking the sheets off as if they were mad dogs at his heels, but Antony put a hand on his chest, holding him down. Brutus glared up at him.

“Keep your head on; Pammenes cancelled your lesson.”

Brutus blinked, warily relaxing back onto the lumpy mattress. “Is that so?”

“Courier came this morning.”

“Oh.” A beat. “You went through my mail?” 

“It wasn’t really mail.”

“What a novel philosophical conundrum you’ve posed, Antonius: the nature of mail. Shall we have a dialogue of postal semantics?”

Antony scoffed as he pulled his cloak on. “I don’t know why you’re so upset. I let you get an extra hour of sleep and somehow you’re still finding a way to bitch about it.”

“You can’t seriously ask me why I’m upset that you went through my mail when I was asleep.”

“That’s one secretorial duty I did for free and with good initiative. You can’t buy that.”

It was enough to suggest a smile playing at Brutus’s lips. “I would sooner hire you as a physician than a secretary.” Antony sat on the edge of the bed, rolling up his sleeves. 

“Can’t fuck a physician. Now, a secretary...”

“Does everything go back to sex for you?”

“Only when my flower, Brutus, is involved,” he winked. A lesser man might have swooned. “Help me with my lacerna.”

“That sounds more like a secretary’s duty. I’ll have him get right on that.”

“Oh, that’s clever. I think he’s busy though.” Antony leaned over him and jostled the bed so the metal frame hit the wall rhythmically. “ _ Brutus! _ ” He cried breathlessly, loudly, effeminately, vulgarly. “Right there! I love it when you pound my ass! Fuck me harder! Cum ins-”

Brutus flew up, clapping his hand over Antony’s mouth. “For the love of the gods,” he said, trying to contain his humiliated amusement, a hideous blush mottling on his cheeks, shame heating his body like an oven. “Shut up, just once.” Antony looked down at him with his hazel eyes, gleaming endlessly with their mischief, a foolishness that Brutus had always been told he was better than. He found it difficult, at times, to not be jealous of Antony for his shamelessness and his youth, his bull-like existence, bowling through life. It was a mentality that Brutus had been so deprived of, he hardly knew where to begin to act that way. Not that he would want to. Not that he had the choice. Not that he truly believed Antony’s life was any easier than his. Rather, it was different in a way Brutus could never fathom. There were many things about them that were unfathomable and better left that way. It was easier to choose simplicity while they still had the autonomy to choose it, for they both knew, though it was unspoken, that it would not last.

Slowly, he removed his hand. Antony leaned down and kissed his cheek. His hair smelled like rosemary. It was too long, and Brutus was sure it wouldn’t pass inspection. His eyelashes tickled Brutus’s cheek, his heartbeat thumped through his uniform. The bedframe creaked as Antony pushed off of it, standing. “Please, can you help me?”

Brutus stood, joints cracking and muscles aching, and took both ends of the cloak. He shook the tensions, wrinkles, and knots out and draped it about him gingerly, fastening it at his shoulder and pulling out the hood. “What a sorry state you are,” Brutus said as he smoothed the fabric. “You can’t even dress yourself without help. It’s a wonder that you manage your silly costume changes.”

“If you used some water on that cowlick, it might stay down,” retorted Antony. 

“You’re one saucy word away from losing your job as my secretary.”

“Well I’m about five minutes away from losing my job and all my wonderful prospects in the military and, someday, in politics.”

The smile slowly faded from Brutus’s lips, though his tired oaken eyes were still bright with his amusement. “You're right. Somewhat. You should go before anyone starts asking questions.” The last thing anyone needed was some captain or other pounding on the door, calling for Antony and discovering the golden child groomed for the Optimates making eyes at Marcus Antonius, disheveled cowlicks and bruises be damned.

Antony grabbed his belongings, including the back that had been on the barren little escritoire. “You’re right, but you worry too much.”

“One of us must, Antony.”

“If you’re still here when I’m back, I’ll fuck you again until you can’t walk home, and that’s a promise on my honour.”

“Unfortunately, I have other things I need to do today.”

Antony began to back out of the room, his palms upturned innocently. “I’m just saying that if you’re here-”

“I’m not going to be here,” said Brutus.

“Well if you are….” His footfalls receded to nothing, and the sound of the door opening and closing echoed through the house. Brutus glanced around the ugly room with its sparse, mixed furniture and suspicious stains on the ceiling, a stolen signpost resting in a corner, a sandal nailed to the wall. He sat down on the bed and laid back once more. The old mattress grumpily conformed to his body, the pillow huffed under his head. Brutus closed his eyes and let himself be comforted, if only for another moment.


End file.
